And Then There Were Five
by JellyBean30
Summary: SPOILERS for the 'alleged' start of Season 4.  Can't really say anything more, can I?  See some details inside. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

A/N: As stated in the summary, this story is based on spoilers for the 'alleged' start of Season 4. If you don't like spoilers, you will probably not like this story. If, however, you are a spoiler (ahem) hound, like myself, then perhaps you'll appreciate it. No ships. No angst. Just some good old-fashioned fun. So, how does House plan to narrow down the 40 fellowship applications? Perhaps, like this?

Disclaimer: If they were mine, the show would have been yanked by the censors long, long ago.

_**And Then There Were Five**_

Chapter 1 – Two Months

Her arms laden with files, Cuddy marched toward House's office, determined to put a stop his ridiculous pig-headedness. Two months of torturing nurses, orderlies, lab techs and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Two months of diagnosing patients with his Magic Eight Ball, by tossing a coin or on the janitor's advice. Two months of brooding, moping and generally being a bigger pain in the ass than Cuddy could ever remember. And all because he refused to interview for a new team.

"House," she barked as she stiff-armed his office door. "This latest stunt is the end. You _cannot_ diagnose a patient by having them draw straws with diseases written on them!"

"So, this is the straw that broke the camel's back?" House queried, as he laid down the over-sized tennis ball he'd been rolling between his palms. "Personally I've always thought of you as more of a cow, but I suppose it's really your call."

"House," Cuddy seethed through clenched teeth, "you will begin working on hiring a new team. You will not take any new patients until you've hired new fellows."

"Darn, no patients," House exclaimed in mock disappointment. "What ever will I do to amuse myself?"

"You didn't let me finish," Cuddy said, smiling her sweet, false, administrator-from-hell smile. "As incentive, I'm tripling your clinic hours. You'll be working four hours in the clinic, _daily_, until that conference room is filled with doctors that you employ."

House didn't reply, just turned in his chair until his back was to her. Cuddy sighed, but decided his refusal to continue arguing meant he understood.

"There are forty fellowship applications here. Get started," she said as she dropped the files she'd been carrying on his desk with a resounding thud and left.

&&&&&&

Three and a half minutes later, the files landed on Wilson's desk with less of thud and more a scattering. Wilson barely managed to grab his coffee cup before it was knocked over by the files slowly sliding across his desk.

"CVs," House said.

"Gazundheit," Wilson replied.

"Fellowship applications," House said, rubbing his jaw with one hand while tapping his cane on Wilson's carpet with the other. He limped to the glass door overlooking the balcony and grimaced.

"Cuddy finally cornered you," Wilson stated. He began piling the files in neat stacks as he spoke. "I'm surprised she let you go as long as she did."

"I don't need new fellows," House argued. "I'm managing just fine."

"Somehow I doubt your last few patients would agree," Wilson said, mostly under his breath.

"They lived, didn't they?"

"Barely. And believe it or not, most patients don't come to see a doctor so they can draw their own blood and research symptoms," Wilson said dryly. Cuddy couldn't have known about that; House would have been suspended for sure. Again.

"Just call them in," House said tiredly. He had heard the oncoming lecture from Wilson exactly twenty-six times since the last three idiots left. He was not going to let him get to thirty.

"I'm going to need a little time to shuffle some patients around for the interviews," Wilson said, pulling out his calendar and flipping pages.

"Don't need you," House said quickly as he turned away from the balcony and began limping toward the door.

"Didn't human resources and the legal department bar you from performing interviews after last time?" Wilson said cautiously. He was in no mood to try explaining any more cane-shaped bruises on fellowship applicants to Cuddy. Or a judge.

"Not interviewing, just call them in," House said. He opened the door and was half-way out when Wilson's voice slowed his pace.

"Wait, which ones?" Wilson called.

"All of them," House shouted back.


	2. All Forty of Them?

Disclaimer: Must I say it again? They're not mine. Too bad, because I could do such fun things with them.

**Chapter 2**

_All Forty of Them?_

The following Monday, House limped into the reception area of Cuddy's office and stood at the door staring. After only two minutes, she looked up from her computer to be greeting by a pair of baby blues, glinting mischievously. He angled his head indicating that she was to follow him and limped toward the elevator.

"You should be signing into the clinic," Cuddy said as she walked up beside him just as the elevator doors opened.

"Why? I'm not working in the clinic today," House answered.

Cuddy looked at him incredulously, but House refused to turn his head and acknowledge her glances. He stood perfectly still and watched the floor numbers light up on the display. When the elevator reached the diagnostic floor and the doors opened, he limped out without a word. Sighing and rolling her eyes, Cuddy had no choice but to follow.

She caught up to House standing in the hall outside the conference area, an unbearably smug look on his face. Cuddy looked into the conference room briefly and then turned to chew House out about his clinic hours but quickly did a double-take.

The conference room was literally filled with young doctors. There had to be… at least forty of them in there.

"That full enough for you?" House asked innocently.

"What … I … House, what the hell is this?" Cuddy sputtered.

"You said triple the clinic hours until the room was full of doctors I employ. Excellent motivator, by the way. So, I hired the fellowship applicants," House explained.

"All forty of them," Cuddy stated.

"For now," House said, grinning wickedly as he surveyed the fresh, young doctors. "I'm not allowed to interview, but I am allowed to hire and fire. So, I hired them all and I'll fire the ones I don't want." He looked at Cuddy and then back at the conference room again. "Like shooting fish in a barrel."

"House, this is the most asinine …"

"Sorry, no time to chat. I've got employees to deal with," House left Cuddy standing open-mouthed in the hall.

&&&&&

House limped into the conference room after a brief stop in his office. He managed to shoulder his way through the very crowded room, only jabbing three feet with his cane in the process. When he finally reached the coffee pot he sighed heavily. _Strike one_, he thought to himself. Forty doctors and not a single one of them needed coffee?

"You," House said as he raised his cane and pointed at a random fellow. "Go get the box on my desk."

The young man in question scampered, and House smirked the tiniest bit. His reputation was obviously still well intact. He hadn't even said anything nasty yet and already they were jumping. The doctor House had chosen walked back into the conference room and placed the box on the table.

House limped to the table and reached into the box. He withdrew a stack of orange files and dropped them on the table. Next he took out a stack of blue files and pushed them into the chest of a nearby fellow with a mumbled command to 'pass those out'. Finally, he took out two handfuls of rayon squares and handed them to the next nearest candidate.

"I have no intention of learning your names, since almost all of are going to be fired sometime between today and …" House scrunched up his face in thought, "Tuesday of next week. Each of you will be assigned a number, which you will wear on your chest. On the table here are your fellowship applications. Please peel the sticker from the back of your racing number and affix it to your file so that if I ever become interested in learning your name, I won't have to talk to you."

House noted the turning of heads in confusion, disgust, annoyance and amusement with pleasure. This little exercise alone was guaranteed to piss off at least one person, who would either quit or complain and be fired.

"You are also being handed an orientation packet, with some information that I believe you will find useful during your time here, limited as that may be. Included are some guidelines to make your acclimation here smooth and a few rules you'll be expected to follow."

Forty pairs of eyes began scanning the contents of the orientation packet they'd been handed.

_Guidelines:_

_Dr. House does not care what you think._

_Dr. House does not care about your personal life, unless it is somehow embarrassing._

_Dr. House does not see patients._

_Dr. House does not perform tests._

_Dr. House prefers his coffee black, two sugars._

_Rules:_

_1) The Vicodin is mine. Don't touch._

_2) Yes, my leg hurts today. Don't ask._

_3) I'm the boss, you do as I say. Don't argue._

_4) No, I don't care that it's illegal, unethical or immoral. Don't bother._

_5) It's never lupus. Ever. Don't suggest it._

_6) There is no rule six._

_7) I teach, you learn. Don't hurt yourself trying to keep up._

_8) I don't follow rules. Don't act surprised._

House smirked. This might actually be fun.

It is fun, isn't it? So tell me! Press the magic purply-blue button of love!


	3. Thinning the Herd

Disclaimer: If Fox and David Shore let me borrow them, I promise to return them in perfectly servicable, if slightly dissheveled condition.

_****_

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Thinning the Herd**_

"I thought she was kidding," Wilson said as he slid into the chair across from House in the cafeteria. Not only had House managed to get Wilson to pay for his lunch, again, but had also left him to carry both trays. Sliding House's tray across the table, Wilson eyed the group of fellows sitting several tables away.

"Nope, it really is ten inches," House said quickly. "Oh, that's not what you meant. How embarrassing."

Wilson rolled his eyes while House ripped off an enormous bite of his Reuben and chewed it noisily. This had to be one of the best stunts House had ever pulled to get out of clinic duty. And that was no easy feat.

"I thought Cuddy said there were forty of them," Wilson continued as he did a quick head count. "You're missing a few."

"Jimmy," House mocked, "you didn't really think they'd all survive the first day, did you?"

"It's only lunch," Wilson said dryly. House waved a hand to dismiss his observation. "Even you can't have fired six people before lunch."

"Of course not," House chastised his friend. "I fired four of them. Two quit."

"That's …"

"Impressive?"

"Okay." Wilson opened his salad and poured his dressing over it. "So?" Wilson waved his fork in House's direction, indicating he should explain how he was down six fellows in barely four hours.

"Two of them quit this morning when I told them they had to wear numbers. I fired two of them who got lost trying to find their way back to the conference room," House said, slurping his soda and stealing the bag of chips Wilson had bought.

"And the other two?" Wilson questioned, letting the chips go unheeded. Wilson never ate potato chips, hated them actually. Buying them was a preemptive way of stopping House from stealing the salad out from under his fork.

"Nose picker and moron," House said simply.

"Nose picker I get. Could you clarify moron?" Wilson asked.

"He said Carmen Electra wasn't hot," House answered, in a tone that indicated he believed this to be evidence of a severe mental deficiency.

"How did he ever finish medical school?" Wilson asked while rolling his eyes. "House, you can't fire someone for not liking Carmen Electra. Maybe he was gay."

"Not if the way he was checking out 11's ass says anything about him," House replied. "He's a moron."

"You know, you could have just interviewed them," Wilson said pragmatically. Why did House always have to go about things in the most convoluted way possible?

"What do you think I'm doing right now?" House asked.

"Besides scamming lunch?" Wilson asked.

"I'm observing them in their natural habitat," House countered.

"Like National Geographic," Wilson observed sarcastically.

"Exactly," House agreed. He twisted in his seat to watch the group of now thirty four fellows. "6, she's got OCD. See the utensils all at right angles, every bite of her steak cut into the same sized cubes? You should have seen her trying to pin the number on perfectly straight. 22, he's suffering from hearing loss on his right side. See how he keeps leaning that way? Probably hereditary. And 38's got a possessive girlfriend."

"How can you possibly know that?" Wilson asked. Mentally, he was wondering how he missed those things that seemed so clear once House pointed them out.

"That's at least the fifteenth time he's pulled out his cell since he's been in here. Texting, no doubt, because she wants to know how it's going, how's the new boss, what is he having for lunch, why didn't he answer the phone when she called at 10:30?" House stopped and took another bite of his sandwich.

Wilson watched as 38 did indeed take out his cell phone and press a few buttons rather frantically under the table. He shook his head. He felt so bad for these poor people. They had no idea what they were in for.

Turning back, he noticed House was now picking grapes off the stem. He'd thought it odd that House had wanted fruit, and when he saw House's next move he realized he should have known something was up.

House turned and chucked a few of the grapes over at his fellows, hitting 27 squarely in the back of the head. 27 turned and looked around in anger and confusion, while House quickly ducked his head back down toward his sandwich.

"He knows it was you," Wilson hissed at House. He was making it painfully obvious that he had thrown the grape, which wasn't House's usual style. "What are you doing?"

"Just thinning the herd."

Don't you just love Wilson? I do. Join the club, we'll have t-shirts made!


	4. Five

Disclaimer: House MD is the intellectual property of Mr. David Shore, and most sadly, I am not he.

_**Five**_

Two days later, and seven more fellows down, House was running out of obnoxious ways to get people to quit. The jig was up, and the remaining twenty seven had decided to simply put up with the 'Kick Me' signs, dribble glasses and whoopee cushions in an effort to out wit, out last and out play their competitors.

Cuddy had barred him from sending any of the new crew to the clinic and there wasn't an infectious disease to be had at PPTH. Still, twenty seven doctors were a few too many for House to want to deal with. This morning, he'd woken up with a brand new plan to winnow down his choices.

"Good morning class," House said brightly as he limped into the conference room on that sunny Wednesday morning. "Since we are still without a patient, today we'll be working on honing one of the most basic skills a good doctor needs."

Fifty four eyes rolled heaven-ward in dread and anticipation of what could possibly be coming next. Rustling of lab coats and shuffling of feet whispered through the eerily silent conference room while the anxious fellows waited for House to reveal his next dastardly plan.

Finally, 21 gathered up his courage and broke the silence. "What skill?"

"Sleep deprivation!" House said happily. A few of the fellows groaned. Of course all of them had survived their share of sleepless nights through med school, internships and residencies, but none of them had ever actually been tested on it.

"How are you going to test us on that?" 9 asked tentatively.

"I'm so glad you asked," House said with what could only be described as a disturbingly gleeful tone. He walked out of the conference room to his office and returned with a stack of crossword puzzle books that had somehow been absent from Chase's locker when he'd cleaned out his belongings. He tossed the puzzle books, along with several dozen pencils, onto the conference table haphazardly.

"We are having a crossword puzzle tournament," House announced. The fellows looked at each other warily. So far, this sounded too easy. "There will be scheduled bathroom and food breaks, lasting no longer than ten minutes. First five to fall asleep get the ax; last man awake wins,"

"Wins?" 22 asked eagerly.

"That's right, ladies and gents, this is your first chance at proving yourself worthy of the privilege of my tutelage. The tournament winner is guaranteed a spot on my new team." House smirked as he watched his fellows eagerly begin snatching at the puzzle books and pencils. He limped toward his office and paused in the doorway.

"Have fun."

* * *

"House," Cuddy sighed as she walked into his office near midnight to find him lounging in his yellow chair, "do you know the definition of the word hazing?"

"I do. Do you know the definition of the word conservative?" House countered as he stared pointedly at her cleavage.

"I don't know why I'm surprised to have to explain this to you, but you can't …"

"I can't what? Make sure that my new team is capable of thinking critically while under the stress of having to perform on little to no sleep? Something, coincidentally, they'll be required to do on a weekly basis during their employment here?" House asked.

"That's not …"

"So the next patient who's dying in the middle of the night, I should tell them … what? Sorry, you'll have to wait until office hours, my ducklings need their beauty sleep?" House demanded.

"House, try to be reasonable …"

"I am being reasonable. I need to know I can count on them not to turn into pumpkins at the stroke of midnight. I've already had two fall asleep and one quit in a storm of tears. If they can't handle a crossword puzzle, how are they going to hold up when they've got a patient's life in their hands?" House barked at Cuddy. He used his cane to help pull himself up from the chair and limped toward the conference room, grabbing a lupus textbook from his desk as he passed.

_**THUD!**_

"12 and 21, wipe the drool off your chins and pack up your lockers!" House shouted at the two fellows who had fallen asleep while he talked to Cuddy. Cuddy shook her head as she watched the two disappointed fellows leave the conference room, but she left without further protest to House's methods.

* * *

At 4:17am, House and 5 watched as 37's head dropped for the final time. According to House's rules, which had resulted from a bitter dispute between 9 and 23 as to what constituted sleeping, 37 had exactly two minutes to lift his head and open his eyes before he was eliminated.

At 4:19am, House filled his red coffee mug with cold water from the sink and upended it over 37's head, eliminating him from the competition. Spluttering and cursing under his breath, 37 slunk out of the conference room, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

"23 across is Alceste," House said over 5's shoulder.

"Alceste?"

"Moliere protagonist, seven letters," House confirmed and then smiled a rare smile. "The Misanthrope."

"Why do you know that?" 5 asked.

"The better question is, why don't you?"

If you've never read The Misanthrope ... you're probably less nerdy than myself!


	5. TwentySix

A/N: I know this one is really short, and I am sorry about that. But the next one will be longer, I promise. And House still isn't mind, no matter how much I plead.

_**Chapter 5**_

_Twenty-Six_

Thursday morning dawned clear and crisp. Stunned would be an understatement in describing the reaction of the twenty one remaining fellows to find House already at the conference table, leafing through a slim stack of papers.

"Dr. House, why isn't 5 wearing his number?" 14 asked petulantly.

"Because I'm keeping him. He gets to have a name now," House said. He then turned to 5. "What's your name again?"

"Duncan," he answered, without a shadow of a doubt that House knew exactly what his name was.

"Do we have a patient?" 11 asked hopefully as she eyed the pages spread across the glass.

"No, we have Dr. Paul Simkins," House said, flipping the page he was reading.

"Who's Dr. Paul Simkins?" 11 asked.

"Me," answered 15 with surprise. "Dr. House?"

"15?" House mimicked his tone.

"Is that my CV?"

"Your medical file," House announced. "And your credit report, criminal record and college transcripts." Several people gasped along with 15 in a mixture of shock, anger and fear. House looked up at 15 briefly. "You're boring."

"Dr. House, you have no right, you can't just …" 15 stuttered his protest as his face grew steadily more flushed under House's stare.

"Class, what is rule number eight?" House asked, tilting his head to the side while keeping 15 pinned with an inquisitive gaze.

"You don't follow rules," 8 answered promptly.

"How appropriate," House smirked. "And what is rule number four?" House glanced around and then paused. "Huh, already fired 4. Anyone else?"

"You don't care if it's illegal, immoral or unethical," 8 answered again.

"Nobody likes a suck-up," House answered back. "But, correct. 15, is there a problem?"

15 didn't answer, merely unpinned his number and gathered the pages spread across the conference table before silently exiting the conference room.

House registered a look of mild surprise. "More?"

There was no response, but later that afternoon when House slipped over the balcony wall from Wilson's office and back into his own, he found three more numbers left on his desk. He frowned a little when he picked up 11. She was hot.

His disappointed musing was short-lived, as 26 entered his office from the hall. Expecting to have another number to add to the growing pile, House was surprised when 26 held out a large manila envelope.

"My medical file, criminal record, credit report, college transcripts and an embarrassing naked baby picture," 26 said. House raised a questioning eyebrow as he accepted the envelope. "Unless one of us is a serial killer, all of those reports are going to be boring. The interest is only because you're not supposed to have them. I figured mine might be a little less intriguing if it wasn't ….illicit."

"Give me your number," House ordered. 26 hesitated, not willing to give up his chance without a fight. "You get to have a name now too."

-Good, bad, indifferent?-


	6. Forty

A/N: As promised, a much longer chapter this time. I'm only posting this one now to curry favor with you all, because I don't actually have the next chapter written yet and there may be a slight delay. It's going to involve an actual case, and therefore demands research. Blech.

Disclaimer: David Shore created House & the universe he inhabits. I'm just visiting.

_**Chapter 6**_

_Forty_

Wilson squinted against the mid –morning sun as he slid into the chair beside House. He'd been directed to the patio outside the cafeteria by a less than amused Nurse Brenda. Now, angling his seat to rest under the umbrella's shade, Wilson could clearly see the source of Nurse Brenda's annoyance.

He stared for a moment, trying to decide on the best tactical approach to stop House's insanity. Wilson watched the scene before him for a full two minutes, and nothing came to mind. He turned instead to look at his friend.

House was lounging in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, sunglasses perched on his face and a lollipop in his mouth. An amused and smug little smirk played on his lips. Wilson couldn't help but smirk a bit in response, but quickly turned his head so House wouldn't see his amusement. He needn't have worried. House was transfixed.

"Calisthenics?" Wilson asked casually.

House finally tore his gaze away from his group of fellows, spaced out on the grass in front of the patio in rows while Duncan and Emery, formerly know as 5 and 26, led the rest in a series of exercises. House checked his watch.

"Ten minutes of yoga left," House answered, and returned his gaze to the group in front of him.

"I thought you hated all that 'eastern, new age crap'," Wilson commented, providing air quotes to emphasize House's words.

"I do," House agreed, tilting his head to the side. "But you gotta admire the view."

Wilson's head whipped back to the group and he stared for a minute before blushing and turning away.

"That's why you've got them out here? So you can ogle them?" Wilson hissed at House, not at all sure why he was surprised.

"Duh," House replied, tilting his head further for a better look at 13 and 2. Wilson huffed exasperatedly, but it wasn't long before he too was watching 13 and 2 stretch and twist.

"House!" Cuddy barked and House and Wilson both cringed. The staccato rhythm of her heels sounded like the last few seconds ticking off the clock before the firing squad was given the order to shoot. "I know what you're up to out here, and it's going to stop now."

House was about to protest when Duncan and Emery both removed their beepers from their belts. The ten minutes was up, and per House's earlier instructions they were to begin their calisthenics.

"One of my fellows inquired as to whether there was a gym available to employees. The only exercise equipment in the hospital is in the physical therapy area, and I'm …less than welcome there. Something about turning the whirlpool into a Jell-oey mass of goo." At this Cuddy hitched a breath to demand why she'd never heard about that particular stunt, but House continued unheeded. "Anyway, I very kindly offered to supervise a brief but effective aerobic workout for them each morning."

"Do you seriously expect me to buy that?" Cuddy asked dryly.

"We-e-ll," House drew out the word, suddenly distracted. Wilson turned to follow his gaze and immediately realized why.

House, ever lecherous and unashamed, had instructed Duncan and Emery to lead the group from the far end of the grass, giving House the best view of everyone's backside during the yoga portion of their 'class'. Now that they'd moved on to the calisthenics, Duncan and Emery had moved to the near side, forcing the group to about face. 13 and 2, now performing jumping jacks per Duncan and Emery's lead, were bouncing in a rather … provocative fashion.

Cuddy stared in open-mouthed horror, not even able to berate him. The rude innuendos and constant double-entendres were one thing; even the blatantly sexual comments were tolerable. But this was just … creepy.

House narrowed his eyes and drowned out Cuddy's voice, shrill and yippy though it was, to watch 8 in the back row. He'd stopped his jumping jacks and was hunched over his knees, swaying slightly. House watched with mild interest as 8 finally pitched forward and lay on the ground.

Suddenly 40 stopped jumping as well and turned around. Spotting 8 on the ground, he pushed his way through the group, dodging arms and legs, to assist. Cuddy and Wilson, having now seen 8's condition, moved to help as well but House held them back with his cane. He pulled the lollipop from his mouth and frowned.

"There are more than a dozen doctors there already," he said. "If they manage to kill him, they're all fired and I'm starting over."

With that, he stood from his seat and slowly limped toward the group, carefully listening to the frantic differential they were trying to perform.

"..heart attack ..."

"…too young … heat exhaustion …"

"…sudden drop in blood pressure …"

"Are you all idiots?"

House stopped short when he heard that sentence, drawn to the speaker like a moth to a flame.

40 pushed back several of the other fellows who had crowded around 8 in an attempt to help. He reached into 8's pocket and withdrew an inhaler; then leaned forward and triggered it into 8's mouth. A few seconds later, 8's ragged breathing began to regulate itself.

"He didn't faint; he was having an asthma attack. Didn't any of you notice his medic alert bracelet?" 40 asked the group around him. The rest of the fellows looked sheepish.

House nudged a few of the fellows kneeling on the ground and ordered them to help 8 inside. As three of the fellows helped 8 to his feet and into the hospital, followed closely by Cuddy, House nodded at 40.

"You noticed he was down before anyone else … even though he was behind you." Although he hadn't asked a question, 40 understood that he was looking for an explanation.

"His claps were off," 40 said. House frowned. "His claps … on the jumping jacks. He was about a half beat behind the rest of us. He was clapping by himself in the middle, then he stopped. I didn't figure he'd caught up."

House smirked, impressed. Being the only one who'd noticed the medic alert bracelet and recognized the asthma attack would have been enough.

"Looks like we're down to two spots," House told the rest of the group. He held out his hand and 40 placed his number in it. "You can all hate Dr. …"

"Mitchell."

"Dr. Mitchell on your own time. Class dismissed."

So, we like?


	7. Thirty Four

A/N: I know, this chapter is incredibly short. And I have really no excuse for that.

Disclaimer: I guess it's a good thing I DON'T own House. Imagine how short the episodes would be.

_**Chapter 7**_

_**Thirty Four**_

"Sleep apnea?" House repeated incredulously. He turned from the whiteboard slowly to face the ever dwindling crowd.

"Explains the fatigue, depression, headaches and dizziness," 33 said.

"Doesn't explain the fever," House stated, pointing to the word on the whiteboard for emphasis.

"FUO's are common, especially in school-aged children," 33 replied.

"There are no such things as FUO's," House retorted.

"I think you mean UFO's," Wilson interjected from his spot leaning against the door frame at the far end of the conference room.

"Those too," House agreed. "Fever of Unknown Origin…" House paused to look disgustedly at 33, "is just a shorter way of saying 'fever whose origin I'm to stupid to figure out'. The acronym just wasn't as catchy."

"What I meant was…" 33 began.

"What you meant was I'm either too lazy or too big an idiot to connect fever and these other symptoms." House sneered at her until she looked away. "The fever is like the flag arm on a mailbox."

There was a brief silence.

"I'll take medical metaphors for two hundred, Alex," Wilson said.

"Why must I always explain the metaphor?" House wondered to the ceiling.

34 turned and frowned at Wilson. "The fever is a signal that an infection is present." House raised his eyebrows at Wilson, mildly impressed.

Emery, Duncan and Mitchell walked into the conference room, took seats and spread out their notes in front of them.

"Dr. House, why aren't we allowed to see the patient?" 31 asked.

"Because you have yet to prove to me that you're competent. I get sued enough on my own, I have no intention of being sued on your behalf," House answered him. He turned to the three at the table. "What have you got for me?"

"Sore throat and muscle aches," Emery replied. "Other than that, not much. She's only twelve and they don't speak much English."

"She's twelve?" 34 asked pensively. House watched him thinking. "You said they don't speak much English?"

"Dad brought her in. Single father, mom died when she was a baby," Emery confirmed.

"What are you thinking?" House asked 34.

"Toxic Shock Syndrome," 34 replied. "Single dad, twelve year old girl..."

"Got it," House said. "You three check her out. The rest of you go observe."

Emery, Duncan and Mitchell left the room first, followed by the rest of the potentials, except 34.

"Dr. House? The fever thing … it was a simile," he said, a little timidly.

"Excuse me?"

"The fever is like the flag arm on a mailbox? You said 'like'. That makes it a simile, not a metaphor," 34 explained. House looked at him expressionlessly. "My father's an English teacher; grammar is to be taken very seriously."

Wilson covered a smirk. House loved his 'metaphors'; at least 34'd had the sense to correct him privately.

"Name?" House asked.

"Watson."

"Seriously?"

Watson nodded. House couldn't contain his smirk.

"Okay Dr. Watson, go check out your TSS theory," House said. "Leave your number."

Okay, so even though it was terribly short, it was okay, right? And does it bother anyone else that they sometimes use a simile instead of a metaphor, or is that just me?


	8. Thirteen

A/N: Again, I know it's short. I just couldn't bring myself to do extensive research on a case when I know this fic is going to be done in one more chapter.

Disclaimer: If you wanted to sue me, you could have all the money I make from writing these fics. $0.

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Thirteen**_

"It's not TSS," Emery announced as he, Mitchell, Duncan and Watson entered House's office. House frowned and walked into the conference room, where the last of the potential fellows waited.

"Fever, headache, dizziness, fatigue, depression," House read off the board. "Sore throat, muscle aches, abdominal pain, rash …"

"And an enlarged spleen," Mitchell said.

"She's negative for staph aureus and she's got proteinuria," Duncan added. He handed House the lab results. House glanced at them and then took a marker and crossed TSS off the board.

"Not so elementary, is it Dr. Watson?" House asked. Watson rolled his eyes and wondered if he would have to hear that comment during every DDX.

House turned back to face the group of doctors. He could practically see the diagnosis on the tips on their tongues. There was only one spot remaining open, however, and it seemed as though nobody wanted to forfeit their chances by breaking one of the rules. House was disappointed.

"Enlarged spleen, unexplained fever, rash, joint aches and proteinuria all suggest autoimmune," 13 said slowly.

"Autoimmune you say?" House prompted. He could see a sort of predatory glint in a few of the prospective fellow's eyes. He knew exactly what they were thinking, and found it amusing that they could be so wrong.

"Yes. I think we should stop looking for an infection and start examining other possibilities," 13 said cautiously. She knew what the next logical diagnosis was, but she hadn't quite worked out how to suggest it without being fired.

"Other possibilities such as?" House prompted again. He'd been waiting for one of them to do exactly what 13 was about to do … if she'd just do it already.

13 glanced down at her feet. She knew he was waiting for her to say it. Did he want to fire her or was he looking for something else? There had to be a way around this, a way to diagnose the patient and not break one of the rules.

Tired of waiting, House ordered them all out of the conference room so he could think. He limped into his office and pulled out his PSP. They were to report back to him at 3pm. Plenty of time to do what needed to be done. Would any of them pass this final test?

* * *

At 3pm House shut off his PSP and tossed it carelessly on the desk. He grabbed his cane and limped into the conference room. Watson, Emery, Duncan and Mitchell were seated at the table; the rest of the fellows were standing in various corners of the conference room, with one notable absence.

"Its lupus," 13 announced as she burst into the conference room, file in hand.

"Lupus," House said flatly. Of course it was lupus, and he couldn't have ended up with a better test for the last few fellows if he'd planted a lupus patient in their care.

"Lupus," 13 confirmed.

"Lupus," House said one more time. "I think I addressed this already."

"Right, rule 5 – it's never lupus," 13 said. Then she smirked. "I learned that one. But I also learned rule 7 – You teach, I learn. So I learned rule 8 – you don't follow the rules."

13 thrust her lab results into House's hands. A groan escaped from two or three of the remaining potential fellows. Without even waiting for House to respond, 8 and 33 unpinned their numbers, dropped them on the conference table and left.

"Well played," House said to 13. "Dr. Whatever Her Name Is is staying. The rest of you are dismissed."

"Craig," 13 supplied.

"Sure," House replied as he took the number she'd unpinned from her lab coat. "Can you make a decent cup of coffee?"

Gotta love the rules


	9. And Then There Were These Five

A/N: So here is the final chapter. I'm sure I probably could have continued and done chapters about how the new ducklings adjusted, but I've got one other project in the works & ideas for at least two more floating around in my head, so I'm ending it here, with the hiring process complete. Thanks very much for reviewing, I'm thrilled with the response this story got.

Disclaimer: If I owned House, this is how Season 4 would start out. But I don't, so we'll just have to trust TPTB.

_**Chapter 9**_

**_And Then There Were These Five_**

A month had passed since the last of House's fellows had earned her name. It had taken nearly the entirety of the thirty days for the gossip about 'Survivor: House' to die down. An extra chair for the conference room table had been requisitioned and delivered. Three patients had been fought over, poked, prodded and interrogated before begin diagnosed and ultimately healed. Things were finally approaching what passed for normal in House's world.

He and Wilson were seated in the cafeteria, discussing the weird night janitor's new propensity for stacking urinal cakes to resemble the Tower of Pisa. House's team, on the rare occasion when they were between patients and House's clinic hours were up to date, were seated at a nearby table eating lunch together.

House was barely suppressing a grin while Wilson was relating the tale of his dressing down when the janitor had found he'd urinated on his latest creation, the Washington Monument. He was wondering how exactly the janitor had sculpted the urinal cake to form the peak at the top when Cuddy walked into the cafeteria. The barely-there grin disappeared as she began walking in House's direction.

"I have the final paperwork from Human Resources for your team. 401k and that sort of thing. You're sure you're keeping all five of them?" Cuddy asked. She'd been surprised that he'd kept so many on staff; just a few years ago she'd had to badger him into hiring a third fellow.

"Yup, made them sign a contract in blood and everything."

"How Faustian of you," Cuddy said dryly. She turned to walk over to the fellow's table but then turned back. "Why five?"

House sighed. "It had to be some sort of astrological phenomenon that lost me three fellows in two weeks. But just in case Wilson's right and it's me, I figured I'd pad my numbers a bit. This way I can still go on a rampage and fire them off two at a time. It could be years before I have to sit through interviews again."

Cuddy just rolled her eyes and made her way to his fellow's table. Wilson watched her go and then turned to House, who was already re-engrossed in his sandwich.

"Why do you feel the need to torture her?"

"Because it's fun," House answered through a mouthful of corned beef.

Wilson shook his head and speared a tomato from his salad. Mid-way to his mouth Wilson's fork stopped. He lowered back to his plate and looked at House.

"No it's not. Well, yes it is, but that's not why you did it. You're annoyed with her," Wilson said.

"For double checking that I'm not firing someone?" House asked.

"She asked the wrong question," Wilson said. House rolled his eyes and Wilson triumphed internally. He knew he'd been right.

"Pray tell, Dr. Wilson, what's the right question," House snarked.

"Not why five. Why _these_ five," Wilson said.

House smirked. Wilson knew him too well. "So, why these five?" House turned the question back on his friend.

"Well Craig is obvious," Wilson began.

"Maybe not as obvious as Cuddy, but still worth a look," House interjected.

"Yes, well …" Wilson blushed and cleared his throat. "What I meant was, she twisted the rules, went behind your back and tested the patient without permission to get her diagnosis. She wanted to solve the puzzle more than she wanted to kiss your ass. You like that."

House nodded. "And Watson?"

"He's got balls, correcting your grammar like that, but he also knew enough to do it privately," Wilson said. "He's smart, but just afraid of you enough to be flattering."

"Mitchell?" House queried.

"Mitchell, right. He's naturally observant. Good quality in your line of work and not an easy one to teach," Wilson noted. "Emery handed you all his personal information so you'd lose interest. He gets what motivates people, which means he'll be able to see what they're willing to lie about."

"And Duncan?" House asked.

"Duncan. Yeah," Wilson hedged. "I know he won the tournament, which means he's stubborn and doesn't want to be outdone, but I'm not sure that's enough for you."

House smirked again. Wilson really was getting good at this. House turned in his seat and watched as Emery excused himself. Mitchell and Watson began clearing up their places while Craig was carrying a few trays to the busing area. Duncan remained at the table and pulled out at thin book from his lab coat pocket.

"He's reading the Misanthrope," House said.

Thanks for reading & I'd love to hear your thoughts on what Duncan reading the Misanthrope says about him!


End file.
